


fluff in two takes

by Zip001



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Jonsa Exchange, Jonsaexchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 07:19:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11641674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zip001/pseuds/Zip001
Summary: This is written for allthenightstocome for the jonsa exchange. The only prompt I had was fluff, and this was my two tiny takes on this theme.





	1. take 1

At first, it was so easy, to slip into Ghost and see if she is unharmed, to feel her fingers ruffling Ghost’s fur behind his ears, his tummy, as she nuzzled her face against his, as his wet tongue would lap her face, making her giggle and haplessly try to wipe his spit away. He would growl yearningly each time she pulled away, wiping her face with her sleeves.

“You are such a good boy,” she cooed, as she gave him some of the meat he hunted down for her, the majestic stags, the white snow hares. She always wrapped some scraps from her meal to share with him. Each bite tasty but not as much as her delicate fingers, her soft palms he was ever so careful to not bite, nor snag with his sharp teeth.

She was to be protected. He was always by her side, even when she bathed. He stood guard, making sure no one even looked upon her. No one! He was a good boy!

Jon jerked back. He was in his tent again, laying on the cold hard ground, not on the floor of Sansa’s sleeping chambers. He growled with frustration.

No matter how he tried, Ghost never looked back, not even when he heard her small clothes being removed, not even when she laughingly said that that it was fine, that her love could see her, all of her. Ghost was resolute - a vow was a vow.

The more he pushed, the less he saw. Sometimes, only a flash of red of her lovely head or white for her pale arms wrapped around his neck. He sometimes heard her sweet voice singing the songs of knights and ladies and acts of gallantry he remembered so long ago when he stood underneath her window.

But even that glimpse was enough! Each swing, he thought of her, and whenever he felt he could not go on as they burnt their fallen in the large burning pyres, breathing the ashes of the men he led to their death, the bitter futility of their efforts, he would gasp her name and carry forth. And it was the memory of her smiling that launched him onto the Night’s King, onto his cold back, as he sliced off his skull.

When he returned home, battered and bruised, Jon saw her with Ghost almost blocking her from his view. He knew he smelled horribly (he could barely handle his own stench), but he did not want to stop, did not want to delay his return to her. He left his men and rode hard towards her with only loudly cursing Tormund by his side.

As he got closer to them, he saw the multitudes of colorful bows on pristine white Ghost, and he almost laughed aloud even though he felt a warning in his mind.

 _Don’t_.

Somehow she gracefully sidestepped the large direwolf and was in his arms, laughing and crying. There were cheers he faintly heard but he saw only her, only heard her tiny gasps as she lightly touched his new scars (he was lucky he did not lose his eye or nose). Closing his eyes, he sniffed, Ghost’s scent mixed with her scent, and something different, not a flower or plant that she would put in her bath water.

“Yes?” he asked as he reverently touched her tear streaked face.

“Yes,” she whispered as Ghost howled with joy.


	2. Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my second take on fluff.

It was not what they think.

Nay, it had naught to do with them all looking at the Lady of Winterfell for her subtle nod every time he announced his decision. He knew that she was well trained to run the Keep, just like her lady mother, and that one of his wisest decisions was to entrust her with the management of Winterfell. She ensured that their women, young children and elderly were sheltered, protected and fed during the longest night, and now she stood beside him, an equal, as wardens of the North.

It had naught to do with their warriors all wanting to dance with Lady Stark. After braving not only the brutal wintry weather but also facing such evil, these men now fully embraced their lives, wanting to live their lives fully as they knew that their lives hung by a single thread or in his mind, a red strand of hair. He could not fault them for wanting to hold a beautiful woman in their arms, the most beautiful in his eyes, nor could he be angry with her, with her being so gracious with each man, who knew not to touch her inappropriately. Each of her gentle smiles and her kind words did more to heal than any and all the maesters in all of the seven kingdoms and beyond. He knew that from her sweet ministrations in their chamber, felt in his core that there was no other, naught for him but for her, and for her, him. He trusted her, moreso than even himself.

It was silly. He knew that, and if she knew the real reason he was growling, well, he was glad that she did not.

_Ghost._

Ghost loved her best. And why shouldn’t he? She gave the best back rubs, scratches behind the ears, smelled so good, sung to him, and gave him all sorts of treats. She was so easy to love. Sweet Sansa.

 _But._ What did Father say about things before the word “but”?

In his earliest memories, Jon knew who he was, a stain on Father’s otherwise pristine reputation, a bastard. They all made sure he knew in their own way, with Sansa calling him half brother perhaps the kindest cut to his tender young heart. All of his clothes were made of mendings of uncle Benjen’s childhood clothes. Everything belonged to someone else before they were given to him.

Ghost was the first that was his, his alone, not some hand-me-downs. Of course, now he was gifted with many things, the first being the fur cloak that Sansa made for him, just like Father’s cloak.

So it hurt that whenever Ghost returned from hunting, Ghost would trot over carefully to Sansa and lay his large kill by her feet. He could see through Ghost’s eyes how much love Ghost had for their lady. And when Jon had a rare disagreement with Sansa, Ghost would warn him to stay away from her, growling lowly and baring his sharp teeth. No amount of treats or promises of scratches behind the ear could ever pry Ghost from Sansa’s side when he was not hunting.

After Ghost again ran to her, with almost nary a glance towards him that morn, Jon decided to channel all of his frustrations in the training yard. All the other men backed away when they saw his enraged eyes and heard his snarling, but for Sandor who challenged him. Even with his leg wound from the she-wolf as he called it, Sandor was surprising agile and matched him blow for blow.

“Sandor,” his lady called out. Her crystalline voice rang throughout the yard, and all stopped. The large scarred man ducked a blow and kneeled for his lady. Jon stood looking at her with his mouth agape as she quickly walked towards him, laced her arms with his, and pulled him away.

Jon could hear Sandor’s chuckle as they walked away, and he wanted to slam his fist into the man’s face!

“This has to stop,” she hissed. “Whatever this, this ridiculousness you and Ghost have. It is not a competition. I had a talk with him already.”

Jon looked back and saw guilty Ghost with his head down low, slowly following them. He felt sorry for the wolf, to be scolded by an angry Sansa. He knew that he himself would soon face her sharp tongue.

In their private quarters with sad Ghost outside their closed door, she turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. He could not believe that she was crying. She had everything, his heart, Ghost, their people’s respect and love, all well deserved of course.

“Jon, I am not choosing between you and Ghost. I refuse to… I love you both. Until you both get along, bury your grievances with each other, I cannot be near you, either of you. The maester said that for the health of our babe-”

Suddenly it hit him why Ghost was especially attentive to Sansa. She was carrying his babe. Maester Aemon told him long ago how the wolves were protective of their females, encircling them and feeding them the choicest parts of the kill, especially if they were pregnant. And Ghost was upset with him because he was not taking care of their lady, but instead vying for Ghost’s affections like a fool.

Before she could say another word, he gently kissed her. Sansa pushed him away.

“Jon, you cannot try to resolve this-”

This time he nuzzled her neck and tickled her with his beard. She tried unsuccessfully to suppress a giggle.

“I am sorry for my being a bastard to you - I was jealous of you, of Ghost loving you more-”

He looked down in shame and closed his eyes. _I am worst than a bastard. I do not deserve her._

“Oh, Jon, Ghost loves you. You tasked him to protect me, and he did. He loves me because he loves you and you love me and because, because I am bearing your child.”

Sansa held him tightly as he cried and muttered into her full chest his apologies and how much he loved her. She knew. And she kissed the top of his head as she rubbed his back soothingly until he stopped crying.

“Jon?” she asked.

Jon looked at her sparking blue eyes.

“Are you going to be my good boy, my sweet boy?”

**Author's Note:**

> Again I want to thank the mods at jonsa exchange for being so patient and understanding with me. They are so great and organized and enthusiastic and I can tell that they have so much love for their OTP! That makes me smile!


End file.
